


I need you alive

by moonjockey



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Old Timey medicine, Sickfic, vaguely shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-03-26 13:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13858458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonjockey/pseuds/moonjockey
Summary: Hamilton and Washington stubbornly care for each other in the Winter of 1777-1778.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeftHook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHook/gifts).



> Prompt: H/C, Hamilton fussing over Washington after he returns from being captured. 
> 
>  Only the coolest of friends write each other fanfics for Presidents' Day. <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hamilton, I’m fine.”
> 
> He wasn’t fine, but Washington kept repeating it in that calm, yet disapproving way of his.

“Hamilton, I’m fine.” 

He wasn’t fine, but Washington kept repeating it in that calm, yet disapproving way of his. 

His eye was swollen, blood crusting on his face--”Let me just…” 

Washington leaned away from Hamilton’s touch. “I’m going to get examined, stop your fussing.” 

Hamilton huffed and crossed his arms. Washington had been back for approximately 5 minutes and looked horrible, worn out, how could he not fuss? He wouldn’t even stand still so he could get a good look at him or even talk with him. He only knew that Washington was captured, didn’t know why, if he learned anything... 

With a final look of disdain Washington set off towards the medical tent. 

 

Hamilton tried to keep his distance--he really did. 

“Lieutenant Colonel...I keep trying to tell you. You don’t have to clearance to come in here.” 

Hamilton swore under his breath. “I’m General Washington’s aide!” He imagined pushing the doctor and rushing to Washington’s side. 

“And he’s in the best care. I’m sure you have other matters to attend to.” 

Hamilton held his tongue. He did have work to be done. Letters to draft.

Hamilton nodded stiffly, hoping his eyes conveyed his fury, and set off towards Washington’s tent and his desk. 

 

Hamilton sent another crumpled up paper flying across his shoulder as he bit off a frustrated yell. Nothing was coming out right, he was blotting his ink...Pulling out another sheet of parchment, he tried again. 

“Hammy…” 

Hamilton heard the voice of his friend John Laurens at the entrance to the tent, but ignored him. He knew why he was here. 

“We didn’t see you at the mess tent tonight.” 

“Hmm.” He scribbled a bit more.

“You just got over being sick, you need to eat. Well it was that horrible stew again, but it’s...something.” 

“Hmm,” Hamilton repeated. Hamilton attempted to continue to write, but his quill was ripped out of his hands. “Hey--” 

Laurens sat in the chair opposite him. “I heard about Washington.” 

Hamilton leaned back in his chair--pouting, okay he was definitely pouting now. “Did you see him?” 

Hamilton’s eyes flicked towards his friend. “It’s not good, but he’s alive. Even if he wouldn’t really let me see him. And barred me from entering the medical tent.” 

Laurens snorted. “We all must resort to drastic measures wherever you’re concerned, Hammy. Ripping quills out of hands, bribing certain soldiers for information about your eating habits...just regular stuff.” 

“Bribing who now?” Hamilton felt like he was finally paying attention.

“That’s beside the point. Now how are we gonna get in to see good old Washington?” 

 

They probably shouldn’t have involved yet another party. But there was only one person who had a good relationship with the medical staff--Lafayette, charming as he was. 

He of course had jumped at the chance. “If you say it’s for Monsieur Washington. Oui, I am in.” 

Lafayette was the distraction, Laurens the lookout. 

“John, you--” 

“Shh!” 

“You shush! Stay here, sounds like Laf is buttering them up already.” 

Leaving Laurens at his post, Hamilton entered the tent. 

Dear sweet Lafayette had somehow gotten the attendant to turn--bless him. They were in the throes of an intense conversation, all in French; Hamilton snuck past them easily to the back room of the tent where the patients were. Lighting his lamp, he shuddered as the room came into view, seeing all the cots and medical equipment. Those painful memories from Nevis shut firmly behind a door in his mind. And he had unfortunately just finished a stint recovering here. It was all John’s fault. 

That didn’t matter now anyways--as he spotted the only reason he would return here so soon lying on a cot in the back corner. 

Hamilton held up his lamp a little higher, as the tent was darkening quickly with the sun setting. He rushed towards the hulking figure of Washington -- currently the only resident. He placed his lamp on a side table, messing with it for a few moments, until he could properly see Washington. 

“Your excellence--” 

Washington’s dark eyebrows rose to attention. 

“Hamilton?” He attempted to sit up. “What is the meaning of this?” He was favoring his left arm and winced. 

Hamilton placed his hands gently on his shoulder. “Sir, please lie back down.” 

Washington uncharacteristically complied, lying back down with a sigh. “You disobeyed my order. As your general, I could have you court-martialed.” He’d heard that before, but the familiar fury was gone from Washington’s words. 

“It was a risk I was willing to take. I needed to see you. You’ve been gone days, sir. Letters and letters asking about your whereabouts, our next move. How can I complete the duties of my post, if I don’t even know for myself?” 

“And you would receive that information in due time, when necessary. I just returned.” Washington was rearranging himself into a more comfortable position again and grimaced. 

“And look _horrible_ …what have they been doing to you?” 

Washington gave Hamilton his patented look. “I assure you, I’m under the best care. Now leave me be. You have work to do.” 

Hamilton snorted, muttering under his breath: “ _Best care, my ass._ ” He knew the way he and his fellow soldiers were treated here. Some of these “medical experts” weren’t even doctors at all. He didn’t budge, just as always continued on as if Washington hadn’t said a word. “Are you okay sir?” 

“How many times have I said it now? I’m fine.” 

Washington attempted to turn on the narrow cot, this time actually yelling out. 

“Oh yes, sir. Totally fine.” 

“Did they give you anything for the pain?” Hamilton said, more delicately this time, placing a hand on Washington's shoulder. 

“I refused. Other men need it.” 

Stubborn as always. Two could play at that game. “Sir, you’re the _general!_ You need it!” 

“We’re running short on supplies as it is. I just need rest.”

Hamilton knew that he would have answered the same way, had their roles been reversed. Short of physically forcing him to take something, he was gonna have to live with it. Didn’t mean he had to like it. 

“But we need you at your best, general.” 

Washington sighed, his eyes pleading. “And I will be. Please just let me rest.” 

Hamilton knew for once he should have listened and just left him alone, but he just couldn’t help himself. “I’m sorry I just couldn’t rest myself if I didn’t see you and know you were alright. So please tell me the truth, are you alright? Because it doesn’t look like it from where I'm sitting.” 

A smile-- _finally_ \--settled on his face. “Ah Hamilton. I’ve missed you. But as you can see I’m alive. I’m here. And in a few days I’ll continue to lead our troops to victory.” 

He paused for a moment, that smile gone just as quick as it arrived, his eyes distant now. “It wasn’t easy. They put me through a lot, but I’ll be damned if I let this stop me.” 

His dark eyes landed on Hamilton once more. “Does that satisfy you, Hamilton?” 

Hamilton nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry--” 

“I know you were just concerned,” Washington squeezed his hand. “Now I really do need my rest. Send Laurens and Lafayette my best.” 

Hamilton watched in the flickering light and silence as Washington’s eyes fluttered closed. His hand drifted towards the bandage on his brow. He couldn't believe Washington had come back to him. He had thought him dead. He had nearly made himself sick again with worry. Yet here Washington was, solid and alive. 

Hamilton leaned towards him, placing his forehead against Washington’s. “I’m glad you’re back,” he whispered. Lightly kissing the top of his head, Hamilton grabbed his lamp and blew it out as he ducked out of the tent once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hamilton, where the hell are those damned letters?” 
> 
> Washington burst into the tent without so much as a greeting, his frustration reaching its peak. It wasn’t like his aide-de-camp to be so behind. He hated being harsh with him, but he had given him more than enough time--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't meant to be longer than a chapter, but here we are--this time as a 4th of July gift! 
> 
> Gotta hit all the major holidays for gifts of fic.

“Hamilton, where the hell are those damned letters?” 

Washington burst into the tent without so much as a greeting, his frustration reaching its peak. It wasn’t like his aide-de-camp to be so behind. He hated being harsh with him, but he had given him more than enough time--

He watched Hamilton sputter as he stood to attention, papers flying, swaying slightly. “Sorry, sir. Right away, sir.” Hamilton nodded and went back to his seat, inking his quill. 

Washington attempted to reign in his temper. He held his hand out. “Well?” 

Hamilton’s wide eyes blinked owlishly at him, paling under Washington’s glare. “Well you see, I--” 

“No excuses, Hamilton. Either those letters are on my hand in an hour, or--so help me--I can find another willing soldier to fill your post.” 

Hamilton was already so slight, but he slunk down in his chair even further. 

Without a second glance, Washington swept from the room, a trail of fluttering papers from Hamilton’s desk in his wake. 

 

Hamilton found him just about an hour later. He was visibly sweating, even in the cold. He had surely ran all the way here. 

He coughed into the crook of his arm before holding out the stack of newly drafted letters. “I am deeply sorry for my tardiness, General.” 

Washington grabbed them so brashly that Hamilton visibly took a step back. 

“I have no excuses.” Hamilton rarely sounded so timid. Washington didn’t like it. He really had been too harsh with him. 

Passing off the letters to an officer, he motioned towards Hamilton. “Come relax, have a drink with me. It’s warm by the fire.” 

Hamilton shook his head. “Oh no, sir. I could not. I’m now behind on everything else--” His voice sounded a little rough. Washington tried to recall if it had sounded that way earlier. 

“Do I need to make this an order, Lieutenant Colonel?” The corner of his mouth raised. 

Thankfully, Hamilton took the joke and smiled back. “If you insist.” 

 

With the added light of the fire, Washington was able to see Hamilton more clearly. For such a young man, he always had such tired eyes. Though if possible, the dark smudges under his eyes looked to be even worse than normal. 

Washington handed him a glass tumbler, the amber liquid swirling. “Thank you, sir.” Hamilton took a small sip and relaxed into the wingback chair. 

“How is that dear sweet Miss Schuyler?” Not that they had ever talked of her or his love life before. But one hears rumors from the camp. This was the only one he felt comfortable voicing.

A light pink blush added some color to his pale face. “Actually, it’s not going to work out. It’s for the best, though.” 

“Oh no? Well, there’s other fish in the sea.” 

Hamilton’s nose was twitching. “I think it’s the fire--I--I--” He managed to bring up his one free hand before sneezing loudly into it, some of the drink upset by his sudden motion. He reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief.

He dabbed at his nose and at the small stain now on the chair. “Sorry. The smoke was aggravating me.” 

“Are you well, Hamilton?” Giving him a closer look now, he didn’t look it. “Maybe you should--” 

“Yes, I am fine. It’s nothing but the--the--” he sneezed again. Thankfully, the glass was now safely on a side table. 

“It’s the smoke, sir. I am sorry.” He blew his nose into the cloth. 

Washington still doubted it, but shrugged nonetheless. 

They continued to talk amicably--Hamilton stifling a few more sneezes and coughs into his handkerchief--before settling into a comfortable silence. 

Washington realized he had been staring into the fire for a bit too long. They needed to get back to work. He polished off the rest his drink before turning to Hamilton once again. 

Hamilton was also looking towards the fire, though his eyelids looked heavy, eyes barely able to stay open. 

Washington could see how exhausted his aide was. Hamilton had produced the letters; there was always work to be done, but what quality of work could be done when one was so tired? 

Washington watched the flickering light from the fire dance across Hamilton’s face as his eyes fully closed. Hamilton’s head bobbed to one side, his mouth open slightly, a light snore escaping. 

Washington snuck away from the fire as quiet as he could, hoping the wooden squeaky floors would not betray him. He went to his well-worn chest in the corner, finding his favorite blanket. It had belonged to his brother Lawrence. He smelled it, reminding him of home, simpler times. He draped it over Hamilton, who shifted, but did not wake. 

 

Lieutenant Colonel Laurens did not hide his surprise well when Washington appeared in his tent a couple days later.

He had been sitting on his cot, but jumped to his feet, standing at attention. “I am sorry for my appearance, General. I was not expecting you.” Laurens had removed his waistcoat and vest, and was standing in only his shirt and breeches. 

Washington had seen soldiers in far less, but hid his amusement at Laurens’ discomfort. 

“No need for the apology, Lieutenant Colonel. I am not here on official business. At ease.” 

Laurens loosened his posture. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to offer you.” 

“No need. I will be brief. May I sit?” Washington gestured towards the small cot. 

“Of course sir.” Washington sat down, finding little comfort. He wished again that he could provide his soldiers better accomodations than this. Especially with the cruel turn the winter had taken. 

He looked across the small tent towards the other side--Hamilton’s. It looked just about as messy and unorganized as his desk did. He chuckled to himself. 

“Sir?” Laurens asked from where he was perched on a small chair. 

“I need to ask you about your bunkmate.” He gestured towards Hamilton’s side of the tent. “I know you two are close...and I’m worried about him. I do not think he is well and is not taking care of himself. But he will not listen. I thought maybe he might listen to you?” 

Laurens sighed, finally looking relaxed in Washington’s presence. “I actually haven’t seen much of him lately. I’ve been busy too. But I think he’s been avoiding me because he knows I’ll make him get checked out. Last time he got sick, I had to practically hall him to the medical tent while he was sleeping.” 

Washington could only imagine that all too easily, stubborn man that he was. 

“But I will try.” 

“Please do. The weather is only going to get worse and you know as well as I how important he is.” 

Laurens gave him a peculiar look. “Indeed, General.” 

 

It didn’t seem that Laurens was successful. The next day, Hamilton still reported for duty, though 15 minutes late, his normally neat queue a mess. And how could he possibly look even worse than he had the day before? 

“I am sorry, General. Overslept this morning.” His voice was barely even there. He muffled a cough into his jacket, he was shaking. 

Okay. Enough was enough. 

“That’s it, Hamilton. We’re going to the medical tent.” 

“What? I’m fine!” he said, before breaking off into a coughing fit. “It’s just a little cold. I can still work.” 

“That’s an order, Lieutenant Colonel.” 

Hamilton set his jaw, attempted to straighten his posture, but then his eyes rolled back into his head and he was falling over. 

Washington rushed to his side, gripping his arm tightly before he hit the ground. 

“I’m--I’m--sorry--got dizzy.” 

He had never met anyone just as stubborn as himself. “You’re okay, Alexander. I got you.” 

 

Once Washington was sure Hamilton was in good hands, he left the medical tent to complete the rest of his duties of the day. 

But he could only think of Hamilton. 

It was irrational, he knew. They may not be doctors, but the medical staff had seen hundreds of these cases lately. They would know how to take care of him. 

And why was he worrying himself over one man? He was merely his aide-de-camp; there were hundreds of his soldiers sick every day and he didn’t find himself worrying this much about them. 

But Hamilton was special. Unique. 

 

He couldn’t stop him from rushing off to medical tent as soon as he had a free moment. 

He found Hamilton's cot amongst the other sick soldiers. He dismissed all the staff from the room. 

Hamilton was sleeping, looking more peaceful than he had when he had left, sweat visible on his face. 

He dipped a cloth in the small bowl of water next to bed. He began wiping Hamilton’s brow. It wasn’t too long ago that their positions were reversed. Hamilton appearing at his own bedside. 

“Do you know how worried I was?” he whispered to Hamilton. “Do you want to work yourself into an early grave? You need to take care of yourself better. Stubborn, stubborn man.” 

Washington stayed at his side as long as he could. 

 

Hamilton reported for duty a few days later. Right on time. Hair tied back neatly, uniform impeccable. 

A few days of sleep looked good on Hamilton. He jumped right back into his duties with his regular gusto. He still had the occasional cough, but had been released by the staff. 

Washington was absorbed in his own work, lulled by the familiar scraping of Hamilton’s quill. He finally looked up when he noticed it had stopped. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry, sir--”

“No need, Hamilton.” 

“But I missed days and days of work!” 

“Hamilton, you were ill. You needed to rest and get better. There are other soldiers, they were able to complete your duties. Do not worry.” 

Washington thought the matter was put to rest, but Hamilton still hadn’t picked up his quill again and looked downtrodden. 

Washington sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say you are easily replaceable. I would not want anyone else for my aide. If you work yourself to death, who else will I have?”

He hadn’t meant to be so candid. But Hamilton had to know. Had to know how important he was. 

Hamilton still wouldn’t meet his eyes, but smiled slightly. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Just please take care of yourself better next time.”

“I’ll try sir.” 

The next part slipped out so quietly he half hoped Hamilton didn’t even hear-- “I can’t lose you.” 

If Hamilton heard, he didn’t acknowledge it. 

Washington turned back to his work--maps, plans, supply lists--and Hamilton back to his writing. 

Two soldiers jumping right back into battle.


End file.
